Three Poems by Jordan Lydon

 

 

one:

i am mourning something that isn't dead

 

i feel for your face and

i look for your body.

it is here, but i am not.

 

i am prometheus.

you are my guts;

distance is the crow.

she takes you in her beak, and

carries you away.

i reach.

i watch you trail from her mouth.

i can't put you back

into the pit of my

digestive system, where

you belong.

 

my mattress is filled

with tears: the world's saddest water bed.

i can smell your hair

on my pillow.

please,

let me take

your shampoo,

your shower gel,

your skin.

i am scared i will forget your smell.

 

i want to feel

the pressure.

your face tucked into my neck, and

your hands

tight around my thighs.

i dread to think of her:

"the next girl."

i don't believe she exists.

no one came before

me.

how can anyone

take my place?

 

whoever she is:

she will not be as soft

as me.

she will not be as

sensitive as me.

she will be manageable, and

sane, and

she will not be so

uptight.

 

i am pregnant with

a festering demon:

an evil thing

that seeks to kill,

puncturing my womb.

my due date

has arrived.

i am mourning something that isn't dead.

we have grown the thing

that will kill us.

 

two:

self portrait ( in the mirror )

 

i wait for her to come back to me.

when she does, i pull away -- her eyes

are dead and know me too well.

 

she comes back to me.

when she does, i hear her rattle.

she has bird bones and polar bear fur

dusts her shoulders. it is familiar.

 

i give her what she wants.

she ravages my body -- i let her eat.

she looks at me with my stomach

between her teeth.

it is hers now.

 

she leaves with my softness and my

flushed cheeks.

i stay where she leaves me.

i see a hole to my right. i am too big for it.

i will wait here until i fit.

 

three:

overdosing was not enlightening

 

sweet and hard to forget, the taste won't be washed down any time soon.

 

i scrub like it's the only thing left to do;

the cat's tongue sensation peels away my scrapes and scratches and bites.

i am as guilty as the robbers either side, morally skin and bone beside the martyr.

 

my tongue is numb now. the only thing i can taste is salt.